


Talk To Me?

by ausername



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Death of an OC, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Other, Shane will be ok, alcohol use, now with plot!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:27:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausername/pseuds/ausername
Summary: A loving couple work through some troubles(note: I changed the title. Sorry if that's confusing, I won't do it again! Old title was "Hello My Old Heart" )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from this song --> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIhU8wBjtsc "Talk to Me" - Cavetown

You wake gradually to the sound of birds chirping peacefully, and sun shining in through the window, promising a bright fresh day. A perfect day for farm chores, a perfect day for… you reach out for your spouse to kiss him good morning, and your hands are met with empty air. Opening your eyes fully, you notice your husband isn’t lying beside you. Your stomach drops slightly. You know you don’t need to worry so much, even though yesterday wasn’t a good day for him. You know he’s been doing better. Yet...   
  
“...Shane?”   
  
No response. You leap out of bed, instantly awake, and pad over to his side room. A trail of footprint stains from an abandoned beer bottle that had been there for ages. Nothing new, no Shane. You hop out of the messy room and scurry back across the bedroom, into the kitchen.  _ And there he is.  _ Standing in front of the microwave in silence. Staring into the empty semi-reflective surface, apparently deep in thought. You rest a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to you with a gentle look in his eyes… and a quivering lip.   
  
“Do me a favor?” He asks. You nod. Shane continues, “when I pass away… use my ashes to fertilize some corn for the hens.”   
  
“Shane,” he leans over to kiss you, and you don’t stop him. You meet him halfway, moving your lips together in a way that has grown bone deep familiar. You hold his hand and wrap your other arm around his neck, not willing to let him go just yet. (Or rather, ever. At all…) Yet this kiss lasts shorter than usual, and when he pulls away, it’s with an apologetic look and an awkward gesture of his hand in his own hair. His mouth tasted, as ever, like spirits. “Shane.” He shuffles past you to the fridge, fiddling between pepper poppers and pizza. “Shane…” There’s so much you want to say. Shane, you’re not yet thirty. Besides your drinking, and considering your drinking, you’re in surprisingly good health. Please, don’t go back to that night at the cliff. Please- “Are you still seeing your therapist?”   
  
Shane opens his mouth, closes it. Looks at you seriously, and looks away.    
  
“I… mighta ghosted it. But, it’s fine. I’m fine, now. Right?” Beer cans line the wall beside the trash can. You’d taken it out before bed last night. He catches your gaze’s direction and flinches, slightly, then slumps. His eyes turn tell-tale glossy, and you shake your head. He turns towards the front door, but you take ahold of his jacket’s sleeve.   
  
“I’m sorry,” you both say, and look at each other incredulously.    
  
“Why are  _ you _ apologizing?” he wheezes, but you shake your head again, disgusted with yourself.   
  
You’d thought he was doing better. Why? Because he said so. He said he lost weight. He said he was in a good place, when he thought about it. He returned your morning and evening kisses. He said he’d take things more seriously. And you just… you just took his word for it. Like managing his depression wasn’t the hardest thing he’d ever had to deal with. Like leaving him to his own devices away from Joja was the singular cure to his problems. No. You’re an idiot.   
  
“Because I should be doing more to help you.” Shane blinks, and blanches.    
  
“What? No. You do everything. I just lie around here like a bum, drinking your money and eating your-” you try not to, but you start to cry. So a tear rolls down his cheek. Oh no. You wrap your arms all around him and squeeze, feeling his out of shape muscles quivering as he sobs as quietly as he can. He’s  _ drunk _ . Again. How did you not wake up when he decided to get drunk? “‘M  _ not  _ drunk,” he insists, surprisingly clearly. “I’m just tipsy.” You guess you asked him, out loud. Well… you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. His alcohol tolerance  _ is _ worryingly high.    
  
“Darling, I think you should keep seeing your therapist.” Shane sniffs loudly and gwafofs, a loud unhumourous laugh.    
  
“Why? All she does is ask about...the past.”    
  
“I don’t know much about your past…” you whisper.   
  
“You don’t need to,” Shane whispers back.    
  
You’re both quiet for a moment as you rub his back and he forces his breathing back under control. You think back on what you know of the man you decided to marry.   
  
~~   
  
_ “I barely know you. Why are you talking to me?” _

  
~

  
_ “You ever feel like, no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail? Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day? I just feel like no matter how hard I try...I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.” You drank your first beer too fast because you couldn’t think of an uplifting reply.  _ __  
_  
_ __ ~

__  
_ When you popped by to see him, you found him out cold surrounded by beer, and his aunt Marnie asked you to do something about it. You poured some water from your watering can over him. It helped wilted flowers…  _ __  
__  
_ He said he didn’t want to be around long enough to think about the future, and you realized you had no idea if this man was going to be alright. _ __  
__  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ You kept seeing him around. (Maybe you followed him a little…) He started to let his smile through. He said life wasn’t so bad. He responded to you more, and you realized you felt much more for him than concern. He was sweet, and thoughtful. Yet reserved, because he was shy. (And afraid.) He loved his goddaughter, Jas. He worked hard at Joja, even though he hated the job. You admired him. You wanted to see him happier… _ __  
__  
_ You found him by the cliff face, drunk near a stupor, absolutely surrounded by empty bottles. When he said he wanted to roll off, when he asked for one reason not to… all you could say is that you couldn’t take the choice from him, but… you were there for him… _ __  
__  
_ He thanked you. And let you take him to the hospital. He lived. _ __  
__  
_ Two days later he showed up at your farm doorstep, to apologize for worrying you. You told him you were glad he was still here. He didn’t even remember how bad things had been. He said he’d see a therapist, try to drink less, start taking things more seriously. You were glad. You were really glad.  _ __  
__  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ You cried for a good while between then and when you saw him again. You didn’t know what to do with these feelings! All you knew is you wanted him with you. You wanted his surprised smile, his open laugh, the small moments where he confessed his pains to you, and you felt like the only confidant in the world. Even if you weren’t the best one. Even if you were unsure if you understood too much to help him, or didn’t understand him at all… _ __  
__  
_ When you handed him a bouquet of flowers, his blush lit up his face to his ears like the summer sun. Beautiful. Adorable. He made a strangled noise, swallowed, and smiled.  _ __  
__  
_ “I accept. I didn’t know you felt the same.” _ __  
__  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ Nothing really changed between you at first. He drank fizzy water instead of beer for awhile, and bought Jas some nice new shoes with the now available money. He smiled for Marnie, and told her he forgot sometimes that he did have people to rely on. You felt… special, you guessed. You were glad he could rely on you! _ __  
__  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ He loved his chickens. He loved his ‘weird little family.’ Did he love you? Why was he still so melancholy when he regards the future? (Why did he think he’d have to leave?) _ __  
__  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ He kissed you in the heat of the moment when his favorite team scored at gridball. Then he backed away, contrite, apologetic, disbelieving at himself. You grabbed him and kissed him back. He didn’t mention it again for weeks.  _ __  
  
_ ~ _ __  
__  
_ When you proposed, he was tempted to think it was a practical joke. It was not until you’d kissed at your wedding that he started to laugh like a kid - exuberant, confounded,  _ happy _. You promised then and there that you’d make him the happiest man alive. _ __  
__  
_ ~~ _ __  
__  
You haven’t, yet. But there’s still time. You grip Shane tighter and don’t let go when he coughs. Last night he was upset about his goddaughter, Jas. He wants her and Marnie to be happy without him. That doesn’t mean he’s prepared for the reality of it. When Jas had been asked where she wanted to live, she had elected to stay in her familiar room rather than your small cottage, and just down the street from your farm. She can visit Shane easily, but it feels like a separation nonetheless. In Shane’s mind, it was obvious; she’d chosen Marnie over him as a parental figure. He doesn’t begrudge Marnie, he doesn’t consider himself a decent guardian, and he won’t admit to any of this in as many words. However, you think you know him well enough by now to be able to tell the difference between what he says and doesn’t say.    
  
“Shane, babe,” your words are muffled into his neck, and he shivers a little. “Would you please feed the chickens and check for eggs? I’ll feed and milk the cows, then I want us to go out.”   
  
“...A date?”   
  
“Sure, a date.” Shane huffs a laugh through your hair.   
  
“We could stay in today,” he wheedles, but your mind is made up. You’re taking him to his favorite part of the forest. There will be leaf dappled sunshine, fresh pizza from the saloon, and the bubbliest fizzy water.    
  
“We’re doing something nice,” you promise, “but if you really don’t feel up to it after we’re there, I promise we can come right home. Deal?”   
  
“Okay.” He tentatively wraps first one arm then the other back around you, and you kiss again, longer this time. 

  
The weather really is perfect. After a few brief stops, you’ve gathered your supplies and brought Shane to his frequented spot under his favorite tree. You spread out a towel on the grass along with your simple picnic, and pat the spot beside you. He drops down by you and attacks the pizza.    
  
“Oh, man…” he mumbles around his third slice, “This is  _ good _ .” Despite claiming to like the squishy texture of microwaved foods, he can’t turn down oven fresh goods if given a choice between the two. You’ve stared at him too long, and he’s noticed. He swallows quickly. “...What?”   
  
“I should cook for you more. You don’t have to make do with lukewarm mushy dishes all the time, you know?” He blinks and looks away, his half eaten pizza slice sliding out of his slack hand. You catch it. For a minute, the only sounds are of the two of you breathing and the noises of the forest. You wonder if you said too much. “Am I being-”   
  
“You’re fine.” You raise an eyebrow at his claim. “Really,” he soothes, “you’re wonderful.”   
  
“But?”   
  
“But nothing, it’s just, today you’re…”   
  
“Pushy?”    
  
“No…?” You quirk a half smile. It used to be he had no problem insulting you to your face. But now? He’s gone squishy.   
  
“Attentive…?” You try. He nods, relieved, and you giggle. “Well, I think I’m overdue giving you proper attention. I may as well make up for lost time.” Shane blushes and immediately runs both hands down his face, noticing as he does the lack of pizza in his fist. You giggle again. He shoots you the weakest of glares before kissing your nose for a transparent distraction and snagging back his pizza, eating while staring off into the nearby pond. Brooding. You leave him to it for about ten minutes of companionable silence, before lifting another slice and poking the side of his face with it.   
  
“Pizza for your thoughts?” He turns his head to try to eat it out of your hand, which is messy-cute, but you’re having none of that right now. This is your serious mode. You withhold the pizza and give him your best serious business face. His response is to cover your face with one of his hands, disconnecting himself from your gaze. You hold still and take it. You hear him sigh. You kiss his palm. He sighs again, slides his hand down, and holds his knees.    
  
“...I was thinking about the past.” Oh… “Gridball… gridball was great. Other than that…” a huff “Not so much.” You sit by him quietly, not wanting to push him back to a time he’s not ready to handle. The birds continue to chirp. The grass and leaves sway in the wind. You lean into Shane’s side, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his hair.    
  
“Someday-” you pause. “Someday, will you let me know past Shane, too?” His breath shudders out of him, and he leans his head on the crux between your right arm and your shoulder.   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
“Ok.”   
  
“...Thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Shane sits up carefully to get out of bed, you wake too.    
  
“G’mornin’,” you mumble sleepily, and he curses- quietly, as though he can still get away without you noticing. “‘M makin’ you breakfast, an’ tha’s that.”    
  
“It’s three in the morning,” he replies, and you’re quiet a moment. Was it another of  _ those _ nights? Did he sleep at all? You flop sideways at a calculated angle, arm outstretched to land across Shane’s waist, pinning him partly to the bed.   
  
“Sleep,” you enunciate.    
  
“Can’t,” he rebuffs.      
  
“Then I’m making you breakfast.”    
  
“...Aurgh.” He reaches with both hands to tousle your bedhead hair, but you are undeterred. Leaning up to catch his mouth in a smooch, you end up rolling the both of you out of bed and onto the floor. That’s one way to wake up properly. Shane, perhaps predictably, took most of the fall as he noticed you were going down with him. He blinks up at you in the low moonlight from the window, wincing. “Buh. Ow.”   
  
“Shaaaane, why?”    
  
“Because I hate myself?”   
  
“Because you love  _ me _ .”

  
“That, too.” You take both hands to ruffle the bangs of his stupidly adorable ‘do, and he protests weakly.   
  
Alright. Time to make food. You’re  _ tired _ . Shane muffles a yawn into his arm. You kiss him again, sliding your hands behind his head to check for bleeding. Feeling no slickness or bumps, you nod to yourself and go to turn on the fireplace for light.    
  


You had made sure you had the ingredients for pepper poppers as soon as you got back from yesterday’s picnic. You chop hot peppers in half and begin scraping them out to fill the insides with cheese, once nearly yawning into the hand holding the peppers! Finishing the task carefully, you pop the peppers into the stove and set the timer. Done for now, you go back to the bedroom to check on Shane.   
  
He has his head in his hands, staring off towards his side room. You know he’s got beer there in the fridge. You feel immediately bad for assuming that’s where his mind is, but.    
  
“Hey, hun?” He raises his head as you speak and turns to look at you, beginning a small smile.   
  
“...And you just got out of bed, and your hair’s messed up.”   
  
“Pardon?”   
  
“You’re much better looking than me, you know that?” Before replying to his self deprecating, sweet, sincere compliment, you plop onto the floor beside him and wrap him up in a squeeze hug.   
  
“Don’t smack talk my husband,” you whisper fiercely, and he slumps into your embrace.   
  
“I just mean you’re-”   
  
“I know what you also meant. But right back at you, okay?” You kiss his forehead, his cheeks, leave a peck on his lips. “You’re handsome. You’re cute. You have nice hair and lovely hands. I like your-”   
  
“Okay, you’re weird, I get it.”   
  
“...You don’t.” Your lips firm into a hard line without your conscious consent, and you’re glad he’s slumped against you and can’t see your expression. You stay as you are for awhile, arms around a Shane as he flops forward, until he straightens his back and gets back to his feet. You stay on the floor, watching as he pads over to his room and listening as he digs through his fridge. He returns with three cans of beer. The timer goes off; the poppers are done. You dredge up a smile and reach for you spouse’s hand, leading him to the kitchen where you load two plates and dig in. Halfway through his dish, Shane says your name, quietly. You pretend you didn’t hear. He says your name again, and you look up to see him with his hands on a bottle of beer, holding it away from himself while clasping it tight.    
  
“Hey, if I ever seem cranky, just ignore it. I get in weird moods sometimes, but it’s not about you… okay?” He repeats your name, tone concerned, and you sigh.   
  
“Shane… I just hate to see you in pain.”   
  
“You...hate it?” Shane fidgets, swallows, looks longingly out the window then at his beer.   
  
“Please,  _ please _ don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t some big reveal I’ve been saving up, okay? I  _ love you _ . You… you know that.” Doesn’t he? Shane blushes, stares at his beer a moment longer, then sets it down. He reaches across the table for your hand, and you meet his grasp halfway. You smile softly at one another, and if your mouth wobbles, he doesn’t say anything about it. If his eyes are somewhat glossy, you return the favor. 

“I don’t get it,” He admits, and your heart sinks. “I haven’t a clue what you see in me.” You squeeze his hand, hard.   
  
“Well, I don’t know what you see in me, either.” Shane’s eyes bug at your announcement. It would be funny under other circumstances.   
  
“Then you’re blind, dear. I think over half the town is nearly in love with you.” Now it’s your turn to blush. “Don’t think this is a compliment; it’s the truth. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Compared to how they tolerate me, they-” You cut him off there, good mood gone.   
  
“I’ll tell you what there’s to see in you, Shane. Under the chips on your shoulder, you have a big, passionate, tender heart. And that’s more than enough.” Shane looks disbelieving, disappointed. You continue. “You keep your cards close to your chest, but anyone who bothers to read them can see how dearly you hold your quiet aspirations. You prioritize the people around you to a close to selfless extent. You  _ live for _ others. You shouldn’t have to do that... but since you do, I have to say that it’s a bit noble.” Shane laughs, cut towards himself.   
  
“Live for others? All I’ve managed to do ‘for others’ is…” He gestures to himself with disgust, “ _ exist _ .”    
  
You raise your free hand and glare him down. “You claim you’re just afraid to… but, if fear was the only thing stopping you, you would have…” He would have rolled off the cliff that day, bloated with liquid courage, your weak assurances be damned. You suck in air, horrified at what you just referenced. If he doesn’t even remember that night… “Shane, I love you! Do I need a dissertation??” You love the way he  _ breathes _ , love the sound of his voice. You love his shy moments, when he can’t even mention what made him so happy moments before. You…   
  
You wish you were better at words. Shane is staring into your eyes, his wide. You’ve practically trapped his hand in a death grip. A tear rolls down your cheek.

“You really mean it, don’t you.” He reaches for you with his free hand, is unable to get to you with the table between, so he gets up and kneels down by your side to wipe away your tear. “You really love me.”    
  
“I do.” You hold up your left hand pointedly, ring finger glinting gold.    
  
“You really love  _ me _ .”    
  
“I  _ do _ .”

  
For the rest of breakfast, Shane is silent.   



	3. Chapter 3

Soon it starts to rain; tapping gently on the roof. Shane looks out the window ponderously.  
  
“The tip-tappa-tip of the rain takes me to a different time… a different place.” You put down the dish you were washing, take in the expression on Shane’s face, and take a risk.   
  
“...When?” He looks back at you, eyes distant, unreadable. Shane doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s with a story.   
  
~~   
  
_There was no one to notice the fourteen year old slip out the window at night, having gotten sick of the leaking roof. No one commented as he dashed across the street with a pillow and no umbrella, made for the community meeting kiosk, and lay down happily. Making himself comfortable, he fell asleep._   
  
_He woke to a beautiful song. The new neighbors must be playing music again, he thought, hearing the familiar cadence he sometimes faintly could through his window at midnight. But it was louder. ...Closer? Opening an eye, Shane could see a faint outline in the dark. Adrenaline spiking, he sat up quickly, clutching his pillow to his chest, heart thumping. Had someone followed him outside?_   
  
_The music stopped. The singer had stopped singing. Shane registered this as a voice cut through the thick silence._   
  
_“Sorry. Didn’t see you there.” There was no tension in the statement, nothing to make sense of Shane’s fear. Shane breathed in, out. In and out. The dark figure cocked their head to the side, and Shane noticed that they were about the same height. “I like to sing when I can’t sleep. Looks like you were sleeping. Though, not anymore. Hey. Since you aren’t sleeping, wanna sing too?” Shane mumbled. The stranger asked ‘what?’ Shane repeated himself._   
  
_““Tip-tappa-tip-tappa-tip…” He rasped._   
  
_“Are you making rain noises?”_   
  
_“...Yeah.”_   
  
_“You’re weird,” the other person said, and hearing the tone, Shane registered it as a rare compliment. He smiled. “I’m Shawn. What’s your name?”_   
  
_“Shane.”_   
  
_~~_   
  
The storm had picked up, the rain pounds the windows as wind howls in the eaves and Shane continues, tremulously.   
  
“...And that’s how I met him. My best friend. He was always there for me, after that. Shawn claimed our similar names meant we were probably fated friends.” Shane laughs unsteadily. “He wasn’t totally _wrong_ . And he was good at everything. Math. Languages. ...And…” Shane pauses, opens his mouth, shakes his head and skips over whatever he’d been about to reveal. “He never really had a dream. Said he didn’t need one, he’d do fine anyway. I’m the one who talked his ear off about mine. Can you picture it? I sure as hell can’t, anymore. If I didn’t remember…” Shane pauses again, eyes locked on yours, as though trying to communicate without words. “He was Jas’ dad.”   
  
Oh… Shane hangs his head, laughs without mirth, and sifts a hand through his hair. Impulsively, you take his hand, pulling it from his head. You pull him towards the door, out the door, and into the pouring rain. You push him so he splashes into puddles, he pushes you back without vengeance. You first pull him then chase him in circles until the two of you are running around the house, until you’re both splattered with mud and soaked clean through and he’s laughing for real.   
  
~

  
Your whole body is cold and burning. You cough up - _gross_ \- gag a bit and cough some more. Shane hovers nearby with a glass of water and a cup of something herbal that smells positively foul.   
  
You’re sick. Prancing around in the rain with the bae the other day had not been your wisest idea. Shane takes your soiled tissue then lowers the herbal mess close to your hands, other arm behind your back to help prop you up in bed.   
  
“Thanks,” you croak, but don’t dare kiss him in this state. He brushes the sticky hair off of your forehead with a tenderness that makes you blush.   
  
“Just get better, bud.” Flustered and temperature addled, you fail sitting up and headbutt him in the jaw. He chokes on a laugh and kisses the top of your head. He pries you upright and hands you his concoction, which you stare down at without love.   
  
“Marnie and I make it for Jas,” he coaxes, and thinking of Jas managing to get it down urges you to not be beat by a kid. If she can do it…! You hold your nose and chug. Shane takes the cup back and eases you back under the covers, leaving your side only long enough to put down the cup and get back into bed beside you.   
  
“You’ll catch it,” you warn, and Shane kisses you full on the gross herbal goop mouth.   
  
“ _I don’t care,_ ” he rebuffs, wraps you up in a tight hug, and refuses to let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here start the headcanons about Shane's past... they had to pop up eventually since the game was vague...oof. I'll! Do my best!


	4. Chapter 4

The end of your joint recovery is spent cuddled in front of the television for a _lot_ of gridball reruns. You prefer watching Shane to the screen. He sits up straight, expression alight, gesturing animatedly at the videos. Knowing how the games go dulls Shane’s excitement (and nerves,), but not his enthusiasm. The Shane that shouts ‘goal!’ each score with a voice still shot and raspy, that pumps your linked hands into the air… it's like a glimpse of a fey through the ripples of a pond, so _arresting_ and moving but gone the moment the game ends. Back to the depths.   
  
He slumps then, without even realizing it. His grip on your fingers goes slack. When he turns to meet your gaze the gleam is gone from his eyes. He looks...like he’s recovering from a bad cold. Sick. Tired. ...And sad.   
  
“Where’s happy Shane?”   
  
“...I’m not happy.”   
  
“I saw him. Bring him back?”   
  
“...I’m the same guy, you know.”   
  
“I know, babe. Yeah.” You rest your foreheads gently together, feeling his sigh on your lips. “I _do_ know.”   
  
You don’t kiss, just lean silently into each other for a good while. Surprisingly, you aren’t the one to break the silence.   
  
“Shawn gave me the push I needed. To get into gridball, for real.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“...Yeah…and...”   
  
~   
  
_“Come on, bud, quit it.” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Can you really see me on the field? And anyway, it’s just a junior team so-”_   
  
_“-So it’s perfect for practice. You can be ready for college gridball when you’re old enough; a sports scholarship could see you through. C’mon. It’s your_ dream _.”_   
  
_“Well…” Shane ruffles his own hair sheepishly. “Who needs to_ follow _dreams, right? Like you. No dreams, no problems.” Shawn stares Shane down until Shane blinks, uncomfortable. “Uh...Shawn?”_   
  
_“Hm?” Absently, Shane’s friend drew a tinted container from his deep pants pocket, taking a hard swig before coughing quite a bit. Shane blinked, derailed from the topic by the new behavior._   
  
_“What’s that?”_   
  
_“Soda.”_   
  
_“You’re shitting me.”_   
  
_“...It’s nothing you’d like.”_   
  
_“Gimme.” Shane lunges for the container, and Shawn’s eyes widen uncharacteristically large. It’s too late. Shane has snagged the bottle from Shawn’s hands, spilling some of the liquid on the ground. Shane holds the bottle in a death grip as Shawn battles to retrieve it. “...It smells gross,”_   
  
_“It_ is _gross,” Shawn agrees. Shane raises an eyebrow at his best friend in disbelief._   
  
_“You drank it, it can’t be poison,” Shane mutters, before taking a sip - and immediately spitting it out. “_ How can you drink this _?”_   
  
_“It calms me down.” Shawn smiles lightly as he reclaims his drink, closing it carefully before dropping it back into his pocket. Shane stares at Shawn. Stares and stares. Shawn smiles wider, only his eyes betraying his concern. “...What?”_   
  
_“Since when do you need to calm down?”_   
  
_“Mm.” Digging into his other pocket, Shawn avoids the question by shoving two tickets to the Tunnelers in Shane’s face._   
  
_“How did you get these??” Shane reached for them only to have Shawn pull them back and away._   
  
_“One’s only for you if you sign up for practice.”_   
  
_“Urk.”_   
  
_“Shane.” Shawn leans down, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “I know how much you love gridball. Dreams_ are _important. ...Do as I say, not as I do.”_   
  
_“...Yes, dad?” Shawn flinches, with a good natured smile still in place._   
  
_“I told you not to ever call me that?”_   
  
_“Then don’t act like it.”_   
  
_“And you know what a dad acts like...how?” Shane shoves at Shawn without force or venom, shaking his head._   
  
_“Only you are allowed to call me out like that.”_   
  
_“I know.” Grinning a cheshire grin, Shawn waves the tickets in the air one more time before carefully replacing them in his free pocket. “But seriously, Shane. Do something you want to, for once.”_   
  
_“I always do what I want?”_   
  
_“No you don’t. You do what I do…”  Shawn sighs, closes his eyes, and scratches his head. “I’ll sign up, too.”_   
  
_~_   
  
  
“I really look up to him. ...Looked. ...He was always so cheerful. Supportive. Friendly. A lot of people blow him off, don’t take him seriously. I guess… even I missed important things because he was like that. He didn’t teach me to drink! I just kind of… kept following him…” Shane grimaces, trying to will a tear to backtrack up his cheek. You place a hand on his. Shane blinks. Another tear escapes. He wraps his arms around you, and just breathes.


	5. Chapter 5

The next week is filled with random bits of recall about Shawn and Shane’s teenhood. You get to feeling like you knew the kids they were…  
  
The time Shawn pushed Shane to sign up for gridball practice, supplied the money upfront and rewarded him with tickets to the tunnellers… only to have them both kicked out of the stadium for having stolen tickets.   
  
There was the time Shawn’s parents packed only hot peppers for him to eat, he gave them to Shane, and was shocked by Shane’s latent ability to resist spice. (after that, parental pranks of such caliber had little effect. Shane packed extra leftovers from his mom’s low budget out to eat adventures; she never seemed to notice. Nothing went to waste.)   
  
There was the time Shawn got so worried about Shane’s dubious diet, he dared Shane to learn to cook; or else he’d make out with the first person to round the corner of the street. Shane didn’t believe his claim. They were both shocked when the lady responded with equal energy. Her name was Olive, she was three years older than Shawn, and she asked him out on the spot.   
  
After that introduction, the stories grew more stilted. Shawn continued to be Shane’s inspiration, for bettering himself and for losing himself in ways he would not have otherwise come to think.   
  
Shawn always showed up for practice with Shane. Olive cheered from the sidelines, making occasional gestures at the other team that disrupted her fellow audience. It wasn’t until years later when she was threatened to get kicked out of the college gridball stadium that she cheered without obscenities.   
  
Olive took Shane under her wing, too. She was like the big sister he never had. The rowdy, moxie filled, never-say-never second best hero he could have asked for…   
  
...She passed Shawn a bag of something while the three were hanging out, Shane mutters. Shawn hid it quickly, a panicked, protective look towards Shane. Shane had been curious, but not curious enough to ask.   
  
Near the end of the week, Shane looks haggard. The stories stop. He greets you in the mornings with silence. He drank three beers before bed. Four beers before bed, then five.   
  
“...What happened…?” you hazard, and he narrows his eyes. You think he’s glaring before you see the first tear. “...You don’t want to talk about it?” He nods. He shakes his head. He takes a deep gulp of beer. You suggest visiting his therapist. He doesn’t reply, just follows you to the bus stop like a shadow.   
  
He watches television when he gets back, for hours and hours. Staring blankly at the screen, hardly blinking. You bring him fizzy water to stave off dehydration and maybe help his mood. He smiles faintly at your offering, and you are vastly relieved.   
  
When he falls asleep, you tuck him in on the chair, insulating him from the Spring chill. As you move away, he reaches for your hand. Looks like you’d woken him…   
  
“Thank you…” he mutters. You lean down to kiss his forehead, and his grip on your hand strengthens. “He overdosed,” Shane hisses. “Turns out they did drugs with alcohol often, though Olive stopped ‘cause she was pregnant, and...he stopped breathing. Olive tried to get help, but it had been six minutes and…”   
  
“Oh.” You squeeze his hand back. You two stand and sit there, in a deep and somber silence. Shawn is shaking quietly, tears pepper your linked knuckles.   
  
“Olive had Jas and disappeared. I wasn’t her biological family, if they even still existed, no-one would tell me anything. So just like that…” Shane lost his family. And was expected to raise one. He looked and looked for a place he could support Jas, and learned of Stardew Valley. Marnie. He’d been here ever since. “And then...you.” Shane looks into your eyes with wonder. “ _Why_ do you love me?”   
  
You sit in his lap, ignoring the creaking of the chair beneath your combined weight. You kiss him again and again until his eyes are unfocused, then you whisper in his ear.   



	6. Chapter 6

When you wake up, Shane is in bed beside you. You hold still and keep your breathing even, watching as he examines his wedding ring. He moves his left hand into the light, twirls the ring up and down his finger. Takes it off, looks at it from all angles. Slides it back onto different fingers it doesn’t quite fit. He’s so engrossed he doesn’t notice you’re awake.  
  
“...loves me...” he mutters, the other words falling out of audible range.   
  
“Morning,” you whisper, and Shane jumps in place, his ring soaring from his flailing fist to clatter against the wall and roll under the bed. He lunges after it without a reply, as though the item would disappear if out of eyesight for too long. When he sheepishly crawls out from under your side of the bed, ring safely on the correct finger, you can’t help but sigh.   
  
“If you lost it, I’d get you another. The ring isn’t our marriage itself.” He stares at you from an uncomfortable angle of half yet under the sleeping platform, so you get up and help pull him from the position. He’s still staring after he’s freed from his discomfort; you kiss him between the eyes so he’ll shut them a moment. “You’re worrying again?” Shane shuffles uncomfortably, opening and closing his mouth with a consternated expression.   
  
“I just...don’t get it. Why love _me_ ?” You close your eyes, thinking of new ways to word your thoughts, form how you feel. Shane clasps your hands tightly. You open your eyes before you’re prepared. “At least with Shawn and Olive I was young, I had goals- well sort of, I didn’t have so many _problems_ . It’s just...what’s there still to see? What is left to want?” Shane’s gaze is drawn to your ring, and there it lingers. Shane’s throat works as he swallows, and he shifts his legs wider to scoot closer to you on the floor.   
  
“...It’s natural to lose part of yourself with people dear to you.” Shane flinches, you quickly amend your wording. “Or at least to _feel_ that way. And how you feel is a part of your _reality_ . No one can touch your inner self.”   
  
“Dear, if you’d really like, you can touch me wherever you want.” You snort at his attempted levity, but you shake your head, determined to explain.   
  
“I’m not just talking about like, your soul. I’m talking about the workings of your brain, your immune system, your literal heart…” Shane tilts his head, half following, half not. “Did you know loneliness ages us physically? Missing people is a warning from our brain, mental pain lets us know when something is wrong with our bodies, too. Like hunger pangs, or knowledge of thirst. Missing people is being lonely for them specifically; and without them, it’s…” You give up on being textbook clear, place a palm on Shane’s face, lean towards him and whisper brokenly. “It’s just...overwhelming. It hurts. Nothing makes sense. Your Facts of Life fell out of it. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost _yourself._ You’re just as lovea-”

  
“-But it sure _feels_ like it,” Shane’s words are laced with venom dredged up from dark places, and you wonder how badly you misstepped. Yet just as your eyes widen and you scoot backwards to apologize, Shane’s expression crashes down into regret and he shakes his head, pulling you back towards him. You cuddle up to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck, wordless and slightly confused.   
  
“You sounded like my therapist,” Shane explains, “I think I’m making progress with him… but I don’t want to see you that way. Like a therapist. You know?”   
  
“Oh.” You smile reassuringly. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sorry.”   
  
“Don’t apologize!” Shane’s eyes slip shut again, but only for a moment. He sighs, he hugs you tight and kisses your temple. “You’re… wonderful. The best. More than I…” He cuts himself off as you begin to vocalize an objection, shushing you and smiling a touch ruefully. “Point being, I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything I do to myself. Alright? Please?”   
  
You frown. That sounded...ominous. Cliff face ominous? You shake your head. He’s getting help. He’s better. He didn’t mean _that._   



	7. Chapter 7

The meadow breeze is fresh and smells strongly of flower bouquets. Food is spread out on a large folding table, specialties from end to end, and Shane lets go of your hand to go tackle the spiciest of delectibles. It’s a beautiful day. Shopkeeper Pierre had set up his seasonal shack. Most of the men and women of the town are wearing their dancing best. The cool of Spring is giving way to the first heat of Summer, and the Flower Festival is in full swing.

Vincent and Jas were playing together in the shade next to Pierre’s small festival shop, and Jas had looked up as you and Shane entered the grounds. Shane had nodded to her with a small smile and a wave, which Jas had returned enthusiastically...but as Shane went to go eat as he usually spent his festival time doing, the smile fell off her face and she scuffed her feet in the dirt. Vincent, concerned, drops a fistful of dirt down the back of her shirt as a distraction. Jas blinks and narrows her eyes, kneeling to scoop a dirt handful of her own. You and Marnie meet gazes above the children’s heads from where she stands next to Mayor Lewis, and she walks purposefully over to where Shane is studiously shoving spoonfuls of spicy something into his mouth, as though his purpose of coming out today was to escape the planet through a hybrid of photosynthesis and a tank of whatever had the strongest gastrointestinal kick. When Marnie reaches him, she places a hand on his shoulder and gestures him aside. You think you know what this is about, and soon enough you’ll be sure.  
  
Shane wanders over towards you after he and Marnie have had their discussion, and you ask him why his eyes look so tired. He rubs a hand down his face, glances after Marnie and towards Jas, then gestures that the two of you should step aside to talk.  
  
“She says Jas misses me,” he sighs, and runs his other hand through his hair. ”I don’t spend enough time with her, ‘cause I barely leave the house, and when I do…” A thought from awhile back returns with force, and you wonder if this would be the right time.  
  
“Shane, how would you feel if you could easily see Jas more often?” Shane blinks at you, not sure what you’re getting at. This is kind of a big step, and maybe it’s still too soon to mention, but you shouldn’t keep planning for it all on your own. “I’ve been saving some money, on the side, and taking more trips to the mines, since we started dating, before we got married. So I was kinda wondering if, uh, we could use it to...expand the house?” Shane’s eyes move; he’s probably got it, but he’s staring at the dots and they connect in an unexpected manner. “We can build her a room. A big reason she decided to stay with Marnie was because the house is cramped, right? Newlyweds and a small side room? But if she had her own room, as big as her old one-”  
  
“-She might change her mind-”  
  
“-And Marnie would still be right down the street, should she miss her too. ...Yeah. What do you think, Shane?”  
  
“...Are you…?”  
  
“Ready to handle a kid?” You reach for his left hand with your own, smiling. “I think so. Yeah. And you don’t want to lose your connection with Jas, right? So this, just kind of works.” Shane stares wordlessly at you before cupping your face in his hands and kissing you more thoroughly than usual; you may be glad you’re out of sight of children at that moment, but you’re excited with any prospect that makes Shane this happy.  
  
~  
  
“Alright, I’ll start working on the upgrades tomorrow.”  
  
“Thank you, Robin.” you can’t help but smile; though the construction is a secret until you can properly ask Jas and Marnie together, Shane’s hopefulness the past week has been palpable, and for you, contagious. You think he only drank two beers this week, even with the stress from lack of complete certainty. Only two!  
  
“No problem. But… hey.” Leaning towards you, Robin lowers her voice, expression serious. “Since this isn’t my first matrimony rodeo, I’d like to give you some advice.” Your stomach flutters queerly, but truth be told, any boost from one more experienced would be appreciated. You nod. “Having a kid around won’t fix anything. It’s a test of a relationship’s mettle.” Your eyebrows fly up, but it’s true that this isn’t Robin’s first relationship. She’s telling you something quite personal, and she’s dead serious. You nod, again, determined.

“Thanks, Robin, but we got this. We do.” Robin pats your hair, and you don’t protest. You love the people in this town. They care. They really do.  
  
~  
  
“YES!” Hurling herself at Shane to cling with arms and legs around his middle, Jas nods again and again into his chest. “It’s just like my old room, only...better, a bit. _I love it!_ ” Huffing surprised laughter, he tries to disentangle his clinging goddaughter from his chest, to no avail. He totters a bit, unbalanced, and you and Marnie both reach for one of his shoulders in synch. Thankfully you got opposite sides. It totally looks like you did that on purpose. You grin at her and she grins back. “Marnie?”  
  
“Yes Jas?”  
  
“You’ll have to visit me lots! Promise!”  
  
“I absolutely promise.” The ballistic kiddo moves from one target to the next, and receives many cuddles from a loving caretaker. Shane reaches for your hand, massaging it behind his back, and you hope that right now, he feels as happy as you do.  
  
~  
  
Day one with Jas, you wake up a little earlier than usual to cook breakfast for your husband and child. Jas eats quietly at first, but as you try to converse with her, eventually she smiles and compares your food to Marnie’s. Shane laughs, says you both cook better than he does, to which Jas agrees with certainty. Then you laugh. This was a great decision. Jas watches you cook lunch, and insists on helping you cook dinner. Shane sits nearby as you squish the batter for a pink cake dessert together as a team, smiling naturally, a fizzy water in hand that he nearly forgets is there.  
  
By the second week, you’re all falling into a routine. Shane wakes, you wake, Jas wakes. Shane has some time to himself or with his chickens, you cook breakfast and prepare a bit for lunch, Jas comes to the table and inhales whatever you place before her. You kiss Shane good morning, he eats a slower breakfast, and you tend to the farm. Lunch and dinner you all eat together. You and Jas occasionally join Shane to watch about thirty minutes of television, and every other day Shane drops Jas off at Marnie’s, and sometimes takes himself to the bar. The days in between Marnie visits the house, helps Shane clean, or helps you cook. You make it up to her with many farmer’s lunches and once, a spontaneous hug. She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.  
  
Maybe things hadn’t gone on long enough to hit a snag yet, or maybe your family just clicked. You saw things heading in a good direction.  You were feeling optimistic.  
  
~  
  
The doorbell rings, and you hurry to answer it, expecting Marnie to have arrived early. Instead you see an unfamiliar face.  
  
“Hey. Shane here?” You nod, puzzled, and are turning to call to him when he careens around the corner of the door, gaping as though seeing a ghost.  
  
“ _Olive??_ ”


	8. Chapter 8

She sits cross legged on a kitchen chair, staring lasers through Shane. He fidgets on the other side of the table, leaning hard on the back of his chair, taking shaky sips of the fizzy water you brought him and staring right back at Olive.  
  
“You look… kinda different,” she offers, and Shane splutters.   
  
“Well, so do you! It’s been _years_ , I thought you were... _where_ were…?”   
  
“A bad place, in body and mind.” Olive takes a deep swig of her own carbonated water, sighs, and shakes her head. “I almost was what you thought. After Shawn...I thought it was my fault. Thought I’d be bad for the baby. I stopped giving a shit?” Shane is pale, but he nods minutely, not blinking or letting his eyes off his old friend’s face. Her eyes focus a little more, losing the intense, distant gaze, and she smiles at Shane. Tiredly, warmly. “So thanks for stepping up, kid. If you hadn’t been there, Jasmine-” A soft pattering of feet halts their conversation and reminds you where you are; you’re an open eavesdropper in your own kitchen.   
  
“Uncle Shane?” Rubbing her eyes on her pajama’s sleeve, Jasmine peeks curiously from the hall around the kitchen doorway. “Hi,” she says to you around a smile, then her gaze lands on Olive and she stands still, puzzled. Olive stares back, frozen stiff, mouth working without words coming out. Slightly spooked, Jas turns to go back down the hallway.   
  
“Wai-” Olive lurches to her feet, toppling her chair behind her. You and Shane flinch at the sound, and you turn towards the kitchen door in worry. Jas, wide eyed, silently surveys the loud stranger in her new space. Frozen in place now that her chair has clattered to the ground, Olive continues to stare at Jas, tears forming in her eyes. “H-hey, Jasmine. I’m...your mom.” Jas blinks, then narrows her eyes in thought.   
  
“My parents are dead,” she says, looking to Shane for assistance. Shane’s gaze flitters to you before he turns toward Olive, nonplussed.   
  
“No, I’m not dead. I was...not doing good, when you were born. But I’m better now, I made sure to get better. So I could see you…” Jas looks to you, and for a moment you have no idea what to do. But then you nod. So Jas walks slowly into the room, until she’s standing by where Shane is sitting. Olive takes a shaky step forward, reaches for her daughter’s hand, and Jas lifts an arm towards her tentatively. “Oh, my baby…” Olive breathes, wipes a tear from her own face with her free hand, then gently cups both her hands around Jas’ smaller fingers. “Would you like to be a family?”

  
…

  
“Ohhhhh nooooo…” Olive and Jas turn towards you as you try to configure the source of the audibly shocked displeasure. Oh...it is...you. Olive’s eyes are narrowed, the rest of her expression complex. You take one look at Jas, who silently removes her hand from Olive’s, and you swear you can feel the tension in the kitchen on your skin. Olive’s face shutters. Shane makes a noise somewhere between his occasional ‘buh’ and a kicked puppy. Jas steps away from her biological parent and towards Shane, clasping his hand instead, unintentionally painting a red mark on his back. He squeezes her hand in return. There is a long silence.   
  
“...I’ll be back another time,” Olive states, and you look away from your husband and Jas to nod.   
  
“Yeah...we need to talk... _later_ ,” you emphasize... _when Jas isn’t in the house to be emotional tug rope_. Olive shoots you a look somewhere between wounded and acidic as she nods her head.   
  
“I’ll leave you my number,” she clarifies, and even as she speaks she’s pulled a paper from her pocket and set it on the table. “I’m staying in a hotel near the next bus stop, for now. Call me.” She looks away from you towards Shane and Jas again, gazing at her child before deciding to ignore their linked hands. “...Later, Shane.” Olive slowly makes for the front door and closes it on her way out.  


	9. Chapter 9

When you turn away from the door, Shane and Jas are staring at each other. They hear you step towards them, and both turn their looks your way. They’re thrown for a loop. ...So are you.   
  
“...Jas,” you begin, “how do you feel?” Jas clutches Shane’s hand firmly, expression tight and confused.    
  
“She…” Jas doesn’t finish the thought, instead she looks up into your eyes, lost. You turn to Shane. His eyes are shining. Oh, no. You pull up the previously fallen chair across from them, reach for both their hands, and close your eyes.   
  
“Alright,” you say. “So…” Oh, man. “It’s...it’s gonna be okay.” You  _ mean _ it, even if you can’t actually promise.  _ You will do your best. _ “Try not to worry too much, Jas.” It’s a good thing she nods; you weren’t sure what to add to that. Shane makes another worryingly sad noise, stifling it halfway. He’s stuck looking at the door, as though expecting Olive to come back in at any moment. You squeeze his hand, unsure how to address his conflicted feelings while Jas is having her own. “Do you mind spending some more time with Marnie?” You ask Jas, and she shakes her head. Good...figuring out Olive might take a bit. When Marnie does arrive at her usual time, there’s a lot to explain.   
  
~

  
You sit down with Shane after Jas had gone to Marnie’s. As soon as his goddaughter was out of the house he’d run to his side room for a beer, and now he was drinking it in fast gulps from where he sat on your shared bed. His expression is empty like the void of sea depths; teeming with variants, but below, in the dark. You wait beside him until he finishes, tries to crush the can in his hands, fails and gets up to grab another alcoholic beverage. You grip his sleeve before he takes a step and he falters, unwilling to shrug out of your feeble grasp.    
  
“Talk to me?” you plead, and he drops the empty can to the floor, sitting back beside you with a heavy sigh.    
  
“ _ She’s alive _ ,” he manages, fists clenching and unclenching arrhythmically. “All this time...after she made me Jas’ godfather she just...but she’s  _ alive _ .”    
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“She’s alive!” Shane smiles widely, then his expression crumbles and his head sinks into his hands. “Jas. What do we  _ do _ ?”    
  


“I’m pretty sure she’s pleased with our parenting, so we don’t give up. ...Right?”    
  
“ _ But Olive _ -”    
  
“Can visit. If Jas wants that.” Shane rubs his hands down and up and his face, mumbling incoherently. “Can you say that louder, honey?”   
  
“This could go legal. Judges. I- I don’t want-”    
  
“To mix them up in that…”   
  
“Yeah! No, I don’t-” And suddenly, a look of horror on his face, a glance to the beer can and a droplet on the floor. “Dear, _ I drink _ .” He looks you dead in the eyes and wills you to get it, but your brain stutters. He never drinks around Jas. She’s seen him hung over in the past, but. ‘You could stop.’ Your response is stillborn.    
  
“...Jas knows you love her,” you try, but Shane knows you and knows what you didn’t say.    
  
“I need a-” Shane stops, scowls, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need...some space.”   
  
“Okay.” You get up slowly, because your limbs feel like lead. “I’ll go into town for a bit.” Shane nods. “I love you,” he nods.    
  
~   
  
You come home that evening to a clean house. The front of the microwave sparkles. You step into the bedroom, and see the door to the side room wide open. The ever present beer stain footprints on the floor are faded to almost nothing.    
  
“Shane, I’m home.” You hear faint affirmation through the wall. You walk in the direction of the sound, and end up in Jas’ room. When you walk closer to Shane, he stands up and opens his arms towards you. You step into them to hug him back, relieved.    
  
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he begins, but you shake your head, still holding him.    
  
“No, I’m sorry.”   
  
“ _ You _ don’t have to be sorry,” he enunciates, and you both sigh. You need to say something clever, or...oh.

  
“Hey,” you say, releasing the hug and pulling on his wrist, leading him after you. “I...have an idea. While Jas isn’t home.”   
  
“And what is-?” as you arrive at the bedroom, you raise your eyebrows. Shane raises his back. “That doesn’t help us solve-”   
  
“Stress relief. It’s  _ productive _ .” Shane snorts a laugh, and you grin. “I promise we can talk more about Olive and Jas. Tomorrow.” Shane holds out a pinky so you can swear. He’s too  _ cute _ . You tell him as much, and he pushes you onto the bed, still laughing. “I love you,” you repeat, softly. He leans down over you to kiss you long and sweet.   
  
“I love you too.”    



	10. Chapter 10

The next time Olive is in your kitchen you are seated next to Shane, and Jas is at Marnie’s house. The conversation begins with civility. You’d prepared some snacks for the three of you to eat, yet before long things get awkward. How are you? Nibble, listen. How was your trip? How have you been? At first you all warily circled around the proverbial elephant of Jas’ currently empty room. Olive was the first to get fed up.   
  
“Shane, I missed you too, but enough dodging. Isn’t this about Jasmine?”    
  
“We call her Jas,” Shane mumbles, and the room goes quiet.    
  
“...Jas,” Olive tries out the nickname, and sits back with a sigh. “Is she used to being called that?” You nod. Olive speaks again. “So about Jasm- Jas...has she been...healthy?” Shane nods, smiling slightly. Olive clears her throat, relieved, before forging ahead. “I’d like to be frank. I cleaned up so I could be a family with her, if she’ll accept me.”    
  
“...We appreciate your openness,” you begin, clenching your fists under the table, “but-”   
  
“Olive, she doesn’t know you.” Shane’s tone is sad, but his words cut with precision. “Bonds take time...you have to...know her, before asking questions like that.” Olive stares, swallowing.   
  
“I already love her, though.” Olive states firmly. “And isn’t she curious? I’m-” Olive cuts herself off, deep in thought. You spear a few green and black olives together with a toothpick, eating them with one exasperated chomp. “...The whole time…” she murmurs, “The whole time I was...unwell. I was thinking of Shawn. And her. If it weren’t for her…” She looks up, bleakly. “I’d’ve died. I wouldn’t have fought.”    
  
“Olive…” Shane looks like he’s going to cry. You take his nearest hand and squeeze. He swallows and smiles blearily your way. Olive watches your moment impassively.    
  
“I want my daughter,” she repeats, and you stare at her until she starts to shift uncomfortably. 

  
“...It’s getting late,” you realize, noting the lack of light coming in through the blinds. “I’m going to start the fire. Olive…” You sigh. “Why don’t you stay the night? Then we can talk more in the morning.” You, Shane and Jas had talked about this, about allowing Olive to spend the night in Jas’ room. So the woman could surround herself however briefly with some of the things Jas knew and loved. To give her a slight idea who her baby was as a child. Olive blinks at you uncertainly.   
  
“...Alright,” she agrees. You show Olive to where she’ll be sleeping, take Shane’s hand again, and discreetly try to swipe at his threatening tears.    
  
“It’ll be okay,” you whisper, and Shane clutches your hand tighter, gazing through you.   
  
~   
  
You wake to screaming. Screeching, really, near wordless indignation. You scramble out of bed, where you had laid alone, and into the living room before you’re even halfway awake.    
  
“...ive it’sh not as bad as it looksh I-”   
  
“You fucking  _ drunk! _ I stopped drinking and heaven knows what else for her, but you raised her and  _ you’re _ -” you leap in between Olive and Shane, waving your hands weakly through the air and trying to retrieve your mental functions. You’d seen the bottle of hard spirits in Shane’s hands. You don’t remember buying it, you don’t remember Shane buying it… Olive is livid, her expression so desperately betrayed that in a sleep deprived instant you almost want to wrap your arms around her, surround them both with assurances that everything is going to be okay. That’s when Olive shoves you. And Shane catches you. His bottle drops to the floor, cracks, and scatters liquor into the roaring fireplace.   
  
Flames catch and flow over the carpet, over the curtains, up the wall. You’re barely cognizant, and Shane is uncoordinated. It’s Olive who runs over into your bedroom and comes back with your comforter, tossing it haphazardly into the building blaze. For a moment of stillness, no one breathes. Then the blanket is consumed by fire. You cough into the smoke, Shane wobbles towards the bedroom, presumably for more sheets, but you grab his wrist and shove him away from the engulfed room and towards the door.    
  
“Olive!” You shout, “You, too! Move!” You run back into the bedroom yourself, snag your cell phone, and then you’re back to pushing Shane out the door, Olive not far behind you. You all run down the street as you call the fire department, looking back behind you now and again as the flames build up like a beacon in the night.   



	11. Chapter 11

You’re slumped over, head in your hands, on Shane’s old bed, in Shane’s old room. He’s digging in his closet, wincing at the light through his window, still hungover but obviously determined to do something. You won’t stop him. You’re just glad he doesn’t seem to be taking this as badly as you are.   
  
Your house, and part of your farm, is gone. Along with your food stockpiled for the winter, your extra gold, your farm supplies... Luckily, everything was insured- except all of your photos, your wedding gifts, and… well, the list is short but cutting. You hold in a groan the best you can, and lift your head, hoping for a distraction from your sad, looping inventory. Shane has another bottle of hard spirits in his hand. You watch bleakly as he opens it, and… watch with surprise as he pours it out the window. He goes back to his closet, fetches another bottle, and repeats the cycle.   
  
“Shane…?”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“What are you doing?”   
  
“What it looks like.” Squeezing his eyes shut against the sunlight as he empties one last bottle, Shane finally sets the bottles down and pulls his curtains shut. You scoot over on the bed so he can plop down beside you while rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. Is...he crying? You put a hand on his, and he grasps it back, hard. “...Sorry…” he’s saying, “So...sorry...if I hadn’t been drinking-”   
  
“Wait, wait, hold on. Olive pushed me into you,”   


“...And if I hadn’t been drinking, she wouldn’t have.”   
  
“What she did was totally inappropriate,”   
  
“But she had a point. I...shouldn’t raise Jas like that.” For an instant, you swear your throat drops into your stomach. “So...I’m gonna stop.” He looks up at you quickly, correcting himself. “Stop _drinking_ .”   
  
...Did you hear that right?   
  
~   
  
You did. After a rather serious discussion with Doctor Harvey, with Marnie’s help Shane purchased just enough beer to taper off at a safe pace within a week. Shane shook, was nauseous, was quite irritable, was miserable. Yet he was determined. Even when Olive came to visit Jas, he stayed away from the dwindling supply of beer and hunkered down in your shared room, with the trashcan and his blankets and the lights off. You gave him as much space as he asked for, generally...but when Olive came by, you stayed in the room as well, sitting against the wall, thoughts swirling in your head. You were worried sick. Shane was...doing amazing, honestly, but he was doing this for Jas...and if you lost Jas...if all of this was for nothing… and, wasn’t _every average day_ a struggle for him not to drink? Could he really- There came a tentative knock on the door, as Marnie just audibly calls your name. With a furtive look towards Shane to see that he wasn’t disturbed, you slipped out the room.   
  
“Olive wants to speak to you. Shane, too, but…” Oh.   
  
“...Later,” you sigh, “when Shane can be involved.” Marnie gently nods her head.   
  
“Alright,” she agrees, “I’ll tell her.” Marnie opens her mouth again, as though to add something. When you question her, she shakes her head, and puts a hand on one of your shoulders. “She’s actually talking to Jas,” she informs you, “I think-”   
  
“That’s great,” you interrupt, bleakly. Maybe it really is. You cannot find it in yourself to accept that right now, though, so you edge back into the small darkened room to sit in silence.   
  
~   
  
The end of the week eventually arrives. And the week after that. Shane is sober, you are somber. Olive comes regularly to Marnie’s house to speak with Jas, while Marnie watches over them. You’re very grateful to Marnie. Despite asking for more time, you feel like you’ll never be ready to face this music. The outcome seems obvious. Olive found out how to bond with her daughter, right? When you've spent time with Jas since losing the house, you’ve been listless and quiet. To the point where Jas has tried many times to comfort you. You love her so much...   
Shane breaks you out of your state.   
  
“It’s time we talked to Olive.” You blink, and shake your head. Shane sits beside you and takes your face into his hands, smiling gently. “It’s best, dear. We won’t find out anything unless we ask. ...Everything could be okay?” You shake your head again, and Shane draws you into a hug. “Olive isn’t a monster, you know. She may be brash, but she’s a good person.”   
  
“I guess you would know better than me,” you mumble, and Shane kisses your temple.   
  
“I know this has all been hard on you,” he says softly, “but we can get through this. ...We’re still here, and here for each other.” He squeezes you tighter. “You’re so much better at knowing what to say, but… some things get you down too, huh?” You grumble. He chuckles faintly, tousling your hair.   
  
~   
  
You meet with Olive that afternoon, while Marnie is out of the house with Jas. Shane’s old friend takes one look at him and blurts out an apology before anything else. You watch Shane melt a little over his long time friendship, and you feel you can maybe forgive Olive. A little bit.   
  
“It’s my fault,” she repeats, flustered. “And your house, I- _I_ can’t pay for it, but,”   
  
“No, it was an accident,” Shane assures her, with a concerned look your way as you study the floor. A few moments of silence pass.   
  
“Well, then…” Olive swallows audibly. “About Jas…” You close your eyes. Shane rests a hand on your shoulder. Yet won’t this be so much harder on him? “I’ve talked to her. A lot. And...she loves you two and Marnie. ...I don’t want to break her heart.” You lift your head and open your eyes. Olive’s expression is earnest and contrite. ...Are you hearing right?   
  
“Meaning…?”   
  
“I won’t take her from the valley. I’ll live here, instead.” Relief floods over you instantaneously, and you slump in your seat. Shane blinks, twice, and _smiles_ . It’s a beautiful smile. His actual, real, things-are-ok smile. It’s deeply assuring. You heard correctly after all. A moment more of silence passes as Olive fidgets, Shane’s shaking hand makes an attempt to squeeze the circulation out of your shoulder, and you just breathe.   
  
“But Olive,” Shane finally interjects, “where in the valley will you live?” Olive quirks a small smile, which morphs gradually into a triumphant grin.   
  
“Ohh, that’s the best part. But first, you need more info. Remember how I said I couldn’t pay for your house?”   
  
“...Why bring that up,” you can’t help but complain, and Olive shoots you a look that’s too complex to be apologetic, anymore.   
  
“Well, the keyword is I. _I_ can’t. But your Mayor and the valley together?” She slams a hand on the table, rattling it and making you jump. “Bam! They’ll have it covered within a few months. And then, _I’ll_ move into Shane’s old room. Deal?”   
  
“Holy shit.” You look at Shane, who stares back at you, then the two of you take in the grinning Olive. She _winks_ at you, and you… laugh. Shane laughs with you. Soon Olive joins in, tears pooling out the corners of her eyes as she clutches her stomach, obviously more relieved than she could easily let on.   
  
Shane was right. Maybe, somehow, everything will be ok.


End file.
